


Courted By Paper

by peachchild



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachchild/pseuds/peachchild





	Courted By Paper

Arthur really is trying to stay awake. It’s important that everyone knows that, because he is _certainly_ not the type of person who falls asleep during lectures. But his eyelids are so heavy, and even when he pushes himself upright in his seat and blinks rapidly in order to focus his vision on the board at the front of the room, they lower slowly again, like someone is standing on the tip of his nose and pulling a cord to draw the shades over his eyes.

He has finally succumbed and is tipping forward slowly when he feels something sharp peck against his cheek, like a finger poking him, and bounce off. He jerks back up, his back going ramrod straight again, and he looks around, blinking, at his neighbors: Gwen’s eyebrow rises when he yawns in her direction, and she nods down at his desk.

On the surface is an origami frog, lying on its back. He turns it over, looks at it this way and that, and, remembering them from grade school, sets it back down and presses experimentally on the tail, letting go so that it leaps its way off his desk and onto Gwen’s beside him. She smiles, hops it back over to him, and he turns to look around for its creator. Leon is studiously copying down what the lecturer’s saying and Lancelot is staring wide-eyed at him as if he’s done something wrong, which Arthur knows immediately he hasn’t, because Merlin is grinning at him, a collection of paper frogs forming on his desk.

Arthur’s never actually spoken to Merlin. He’s seen him around campus remarkably often – or not so remarkably, since he does seem to have an inexplicable ability to draw attention to himself. Sometimes, this comes in the form of tripping over nothing and falling on his face on the quad, his books and papers sprawling and fluttering over the ground. Sometimes, it’s his terribly-behaved Schnauzer, Archie, who leaps and tackles anyone who looks like they won’t kick him for it. And sometimes, it’s just a peal of clear laughter, drawing the eyes of anyone who can appreciate the smooth lines of his neck and the creases that form at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

But no, Arthur has never actually spoken to Merlin, and yet – here he is, making little paper frogs hop their way onto his desk.

He’s still contemplating how to feel about having the attention of such an odd boy when the telltale shuffle of students gathering papers, closing notebooks, clicking backpacks and pushing back chairs begins. He hurries to stand up with his classmates, snagging his bag and slinging it onto his shoulder so he can follow Merlin out. “Hey! Wait!”

Merlin turns to look at him, his smile bright. “You’re welcome.”

Arthur blinks. “ _What_?”

He gestures at the frog Arthur’s holding delicately in the palm of his hand. “You’re welcome. It helped you stay awake, didn’t it?”

Arthur flushes deeply. “I wasn’t having any trouble staying awake.”

The quirk of Merlin’s lips makes Arthur’s blood boil. “Right. If you say so.”

“I do!” Arthur blurts. “Anyway, take it back.”

He shrugs one shoulder, a sharp, almost awkward movement beneath a thin jumper. “You keep it. I have more.” He casts another smile at him before turning away.

Arthur stares at his retreating back. “I don’t _want_ it!”

“Then toss it!” Merlin offers easily over his shoulder.

Arthur growls, but zips the frog into the small pocket of his backpack anyway.

***

There’s a purple… something on Arthur’s desk when he arrives in lecture the next week. He plops down in his seat and turns it this way and that, frowning at it. When Gwen joins him, she laughs. “Another?”

“I have no idea why he left this one for me. Last time made sense; he said he was waking me up because I was sleeping on my desk. I don’t even know what this is supposed to be…”

“It’s a hippo, Arthur. Please tell me you’ve seen a hippo before.”

“Of course I have.” He snaps at her, sulkily. “I’ve just – it’s _purple._ And wearing a ballet skirt! Why is it wearing that?”

“I’m not sure.” Gwen sets her book on her desktop, letting it fall open to the page they’re discussing today. “Perhaps he’s saying you’re as fat as a hippo and also feminine.”

Arthur stares at her, eyebrows drawn, until a little twitch at the corner of her mouth lets him know she’s joking, and his shoulders relax.

Merlin’s waiting for him at the end of lecture, slowly packing his things into a backpack with fraying threads along the seams. His smile is caught somewhere between warm and playful, his eyes bright.

“Why is the hippo wearing a skirt?”

The smile fades, and Merlin stares down at the paper figurine Arthur is brandishing at him. “It’s… from _Fantasia_? The hippo does ballet with a crocodile! I should’ve left the crocodile too so you’d get the reference.”

“I’ve never seen _Fantasia._ ”

“Well, that’s just a travesty and a horror. You should rectify that.” He throws another big-toothed grin at him before scooping his bag up and leaving the classroom.

Arthur realizes he completely forgot to ask him why he gifted him with this insane little creature, but decides not to chase him to ask; he’ll always be around next week. Instead, on his way home, he picks up a copy of _Fantasia_.

***

“You have a little zoo forming here, Arthur.” Morgana comments and plucks a paper cheetah (complete with spots) up from its home on Arthur’s shelf with perfectly manicured fingernails. “Who would have known you were fond of origami.”

“I’m not.” Arthur grumbles, glaring over at the collection of paper animals accumulating in front of his books. “It’s that _Merlin_. He keeps leaving them on my desk in our history lecture.” It’s been five weeks. The shelf in his room is now home to the frog, cheetah and hippo as well as an otter and a shark. Confronting Merlin is no more helpful now than it was that first day, as Merlin still blinks those owlish eyes at him and feigns innocent of an agenda – and it’s not to be mentioned that Arthur is usually somehow sidetracked by the animal itself.

(Arthur: “Why a cheetah? Think I’m the fastest animal in the kingdom?”

Merlin, with a serious nod, counteracted by the twinkle in his eye: “In more than one way.”

Arthur absolutely does not blush.)

“Merlin?” Morgana echoes, making the cheetah lope across her brother’s desk, navigating piles of books and avoiding abandoned pencils. “He’s the fellow from the newspaper, isn’t he? I always see him around taking photos.”

“That’s him, yeah.” The dark-haired boy looks half-asleep most of the time, with drooping eyes and barely-concealed bedhead, but his features are always bright with a grin, a cheerfulness that just radiates off of him. He works at ASDA, volunteers at a local homeless shelter and takes photos for the paper (not that Arthur has been asking around), and still finds the energy to make origami animals for him. “I don’t really have any idea what he’s up to.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Morgana sighs, shaking her head so that her long earrings jingle and shake. “I wish you weren’t so clever about most things since I love telling you what an idiot you are.”

He makes a high-pitched sound in his throat, like a cat dislodged from a particularly sunny perch on a window sill. “Excuse you! Who invited you into my room anyway?”

“ _You_ opened the door when I knocked.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you _have_ to suck my blood, you filthy vampire.” He throws a wad of paper at her. “What did I do to earn the title of idiot?”

“Would you like a list?”

“Yes.” He drawls out, leaning back on his hands on the bed. “In chronological order and then alphabetically.”

Her blue eyes are bright between her dark, curling eyelashes, and they roll elegantly, her red lips parting in distain as she sits back in her seat. Arthur has always thought she wore a bit too much make-up for day-to-day life – as if she’s prepared for a ball at any moment. “Gwen’s told me all about Merlin. He’s not doing it just to irritate you.”

“Wait – Gwen _knows_ Merlin? Why wouldn’t she have told me that?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “She’s probably enjoying your perplexity as much as I am.”

“You’re both such lovely ladies.”

“Aren’t we?”

“Well, if Merlin isn’t just trying to annoy me, what is he doing?”

Morgana’s lips curl up at the corners in an expression Arthur has only been able to define as sadistic delight. “Arthur, he’s _courting_ you.”

“Courting? Have you suddenly become a socialite in the late nineteenth century, Morgana?”

She flicks a delicate wrist. “Alright, he’s flirting with you. Coming onto you. Hitting on you. Whatever you’d like to call it. The fact is, Arthur, that he is attracted to you, and _you_ are responding to his advances by accepting his gifts.” One of those perfect fingernails points up at his array of paper animals.

Arthur’s face drains of color, then flushes a furious red, his eyebrows drawing together. “Morgana, that’s just ridiculous.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Which part do you find ridiculous – the fact that he fancies you or the fact that you fancy him?”

“I _do not_ fancy him!”

She pushes herself out of his desk chair, tugging at her pencil skirt to straighten it and smoothing back her sleek dark hair. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, Arthur. Anyway, I’m having a dinner party on Sunday.”

“A dinner party? You sound more and more like Father every day.”

She graciously ignores him, slipping into her coat. “You don’t have to bring a guest, but bring a bottle of wine. You’ll know almost everyone, I think, so none of that awkward sulking in a corner you usually do at parties.”

“I’m far too polite to sulk in corners.”

“Far too fond of yourself to not be noticed, you mean.” She points out. “Ciao, Arthur, dear.”

He throws a pillow at the door when she’s closed it behind her.

***

Arthur lets himself into Morgana’s house, as he is accustomed to doing when she insists on having him over. The foyer, along with the front room, is empty, and the murmur of voices, tinkling of glasses and short warm bursts of laughter come from the general direction of the kitchen, so he hangs his jacket on the hook and navigates toward the back of the house to join them. He’s never understood why his step-sister bothers with the professional decorating of her home when most of the company she has convenes in her kitchen anyway.

Not that he minds – when he steps into the room, he’s reminded why everyone likes it: the walls are painted a rich yellow; the red curtains and false wooden countertops make him feel like he’s in the country. She’s chopping vegetables for a salad, a lacy white apron tied over a blue cocktail dress, and their friends are gathered around the island countertop, sipping wine.

“Hello, Arthur!” Gwen smiles brightly when she notices him, her caramel complexion dusted pink across the cheeks, the effects no doubt of a little too much wine. She comes around the counter to wrap an arm around his shoulders in a light hug, kissing his cheek.

He returns her smile and squeezes her around the middle. Gwen always greets him as if she hasn’t seen him in a long time; it’s one of her most endearing qualities. She never fails to make everyone in a room feel welcome or cared-for. “Hello, hello. How are you?”

“I’m delightful. Arthur, Arthur, look who’s here.” She slides her fingers down his arm to curl around his hand and draws him over toward the group. “Look. You know Merlin, right? He makes those cute little animals for you in history.”

Merlin’s eyes crinkle when he grins, and Arthur isn’t as put-off by it as he hoped he would be. He spent the last three days trying to come to grips with the fact that the boy might find him attractive enough to pursue him. It’s perplexing, certainly – not that Arthur would say anything of the sort around Morgana, since she loves it when he’s perplexed – because Arthur isn’t sure how to go about this, one way or another. If Merlin was a girl, he would know how to let him down easy or how to tell him that he likes his cheekbones and his eyes and his mouth and his long lithe body – not that Arthur particularly likes any of those things, of course; it’s just a matter of hypothetical situation – but since Merlin is very much a man, with a sharp jaw and slim hips and a shadow of stubble around his mouth on days when he wakes up late, Arthur has no idea how to talk to him about feelings.

So he doesn’t. He just smiles and shakes his head. “Hello. I expect I’ll have a camel on my desk on Monday?”

“A camel? Who’s ever heard of an origami camel?” Merlin scoffs, shaking his head. “I’ll find something special, just for you.” His smile goes slightly crooked as he winks, and Arthur can’t help but notice the length of his eyelashes.

He clears his throat. “Yes, well. I look forward to it.” He steps away from him, curtly, moving over to Morgana’s side.

She has wiped her hands clean on her apron and poured a glass of wine for Arthur. She holds it out to him, her lips pursed in a little smile, eyebrow quirked. “That was interesting.”

He scowls, accepting the glass so that the liquid splashes up against the sides. “Why is he here?”

“I told you; he and Gwen are friends. I just suggested that she invite him, since you’re both so hopeless at romance.”

“I am _not_ hopeless at romance. I’m just… used to having romances with girls.”

“And that is exactly your problem. Merlin told Gwen he likes you. He knows that _you know_ he likes you. So what are you going to do about it?”

Arthur shrugs, casting a glance over at Merlin, who has his head thrown back, laughing at a no doubt incredibly bawdy joke just told by Cenred. “Why do I have to do anything about it?”

Morgana sighs, picks up her own wine glass and sips from it. “It’s official. You are hopeless. Alright, everyone, dinner’s served! Take a seat at the table in the dining room.”

Arthur does as asked, following the herd through into the other room, where a table with elaborate place settings is waiting. He figures his stepsister really just has these parties to show off her skills as a hostess, and he tells Gwen as much as he pulls out her chair for her.

“I like it.” Merlin seats himself next to Gwen, at which Arthur huffs and, instead of throwing a tantrum about it like he wants to, sits on Merlin’s right. “I’ve never been to something like this. Look, her napkins are folded into little candles!”

Arthur’s eyebrow quirks up. “Never seen that before?” He shakes his napkin out, lays it in his lap.

Merlin frowns over at him. “Yeah, I have, but only in the etiquette lessons I took when I was sixteen. I was trying to impress a girl so she would ask me to escort her to a coming-out party.”

“So you like girls then?” Arthur asks loudly, and Morgana flicks a look in his direction from where she’s setting the food out on the table.

“Well, yes.”

“Not into blokes?” He sips his drink.

Merlin’s brow creases. “I thought it was obvious that I was.” Arthur chokes on his drink, and Merlin’s hand settles on his back, rubbing lightly as he coughs. “Alright?”

“Yes, yes. Come again?”

“About being interested in men? I’m attracted to both sexes. I thought you knew I liked men.” He says slowly, head dipped down, his eyes focused on Arthur’s face.

He can feel his cheeks warming. “Well, I – that is – I guess I did, yeah.”

“Good.” Merlin beams at him. “Look what I can do with this.” He snatches Arthur’s napkin from his lap, ignoring his protests, and carefully folds it, his tongue between his teeth. He sets it carefully on Arthur’s plate, and he can’t help but laugh.

“A bunny?”

His narrow shoulders lift and drop. “We learned napkin-folding around Easter.” The smile returns, soft, without the creases around the corners of his mouth. “Do you like it?”

“I like most everything you make me.” Arthur toys with the bunny’s ear. “Except the hippo. The hippo was just weird.”

“You still haven’t seen _Fantasia_?”

“I have.” He confesses.

Merlin’s attempts at hiding a smile are utter failures. “So you understand the hippo.”

“I don’t. I will never understand the hippo because I don’t _want_ to understand the hippo.”

“Completely your fault then that you don’t like it.” He accepts the dish of potatoes from Gwen with a thank-you, spooning some onto his plate before handing it to Arthur. “But I am glad you like the things I make for you. Otherwise, it would be a waste.”

He watches him for a moment, notices the apples of his cheeks dusted with pink. He clears his throat “So what do you study, Merlin?”

He looks at him with his head tilted, lifts his eyes to the ceiling. “Officially, I study history with a specialty in archaeology. Unofficially, I study anything that catches my interest.”

“Such as?”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “Contemporary literature. Psychology. Philosophy. Economics.”

“Economics?” Arthur sits up straighter. “I study business.”

Merlin’s eyebrows lift, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “I know.”

“You know?”

“Mmm. You have that look about you. Like you could be a complete prat if left to your own devices.”

“Excuse you! I’m a gentleman.”

“I know.” He inclines his head a little. “That’s why I like you. I appreciate when people defy my expectations.”

Arthur doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. Merlin seems okay with this, and for that, he’s grateful.

***

Merlin’s laugh is Arthur’s favorite thing about him. He likes a lot of things about Merlin – his sharp wit and blue eyes and unyielding sense of justice for everyone, as well as a tendency to want to always see the best in people – and he also _doesn’t_ like a lot of things about Merlin – his laziness and general tardiness and the look he gives Arthur when he’s disappointed in him (which usually comes when he’s treated someone badly or unfairly) – and the fact that he knows him well enough to know any of those things makes his insides squirm.

But that doesn’t stop him from partaking in times like these, when he’s sitting in a table in the corner of the pub, and Merlin’s head is dipped down, his shoulders hunched as he laughs and laughs at something Arthur said, and he has no idea what was even funny in the first place, but he’s grinning madly, because Merlin’s laugh makes him happy and he’s drunk enough to feel alright admitting that to himself.

“Here, here.” He pushes a napkin over at Merlin, waves his hand at him. “Make me something.”

He screws his mouth up, eyes crossing. “What do you want me to make you?”

“Whatever you want. Just make me something to take home.”

Merlin blesses him one of these quirky closed-mouth smiles that give him a dimple in his right cheek and takes it. “This will be my best work.” He declares. “Art a la napkin!”

Arthur watches his lithe fingers fold the papers together, swaying slightly. He has a whole collection of little paper animals now – almost a dozen – but he’s never actually _seen_ Merlin put them together. “How can you be so neat and careful about this when you’re so clumsy about everything else?”

His hands pause, the corners of his lips dipping into a frown. “Do you want me to do this or not?”

“Yes, yes, I do.” He waves him off, stacks one fist on top of the other on the table and rests his chin on them. He’s silent for a moment. “Where did you learn origami?”

“From my dad, before he died. He used to make me cranes from whatever paper he had on hand during the day. He was a salesman, door-to-door, so he found himself at different houses in different towns all the time. And there would always be little cafes or newsstands, so I have paper cranes made from napkins and magazine pages and newspaper clippings…” He shrugs.

“Did he teach you to make cranes?”

“Mmm.” He nods, slides his little creation across the table to Arthur: a small napkin-yellow rose.

His mouth quirks up on one side, and he moves his hand out to curl his fingers around it. “You don’t make those for me.”

“Because we’re having fun.”

“Cranes aren’t fun?”

“No.” He shakes his head, looks at him through his eyelashes, and Arthur’s breath catches. “Cranes are terribly serious.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, and they end up just watching each other, until Merlin’s face spreads open again in a grin, and Arthur’s chest loosens. He twirls the rose between his fingers. “I like this.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I feel like I’m being romanced.”

“Well, it’s about time.” Merlin rolls his eyes, pushes his chair back and stands up. “I’m going to get us another round.”

***

Three weeks later, the paper animals stop coming. Arthur finds himself standing beside his desk, first checking that it’s the right one and going so far as to leave the room to make sure he didn’t by accident wander into the wrong class before admitting to himself that he just doesn’t _have_ a gift today.

Gwen arrives just after he’s slid low in his seat, smiles as she sits down. “What did you get this week?”

He spreads his hands.

“What – nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“But – he’s here.”

“I know. Though his attendance doesn’t mean much; even that day he was ill, he sent it with you to make sure I had it.”

“True.” She leans back in her seat, chewing her lip. “Did you do something to offend him?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. He’s never minced words before if I said something stupid.”

“I’m glad he’s helped you admit you’re able to say stupid things.”

“Guinevere…”

“Do not use my full name to scold me, Arthur. If you must, I will call you Artie in retaliation.”

“You promised never to mention that again. I’m going to kill Morgana.”

Gwen ignores him and leans over the back of her chair. “Alright, Merlin?”

He looks up at her, smiles brightly. “Alright. You?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good. Alright, Arthur?”

“Yeah, fine.” He turns to look at him. “Going to the pub later?”

“I planned on it. Oh, I need to return that film I borrowed from you; send me a message on my mobile to remind me, alright?”

“Sure.” He faces the front, eyebrows drawn.

“Huh.” Gwen sits back in her chair. “It’s strange. He’s not acting odd or anything.”

Arthur nods, casts a look in Merlin’s direction, happens to catch his eye so his friend sticks his tongue out at him. He swallows hard and turns away again.

***

Merlin still laughs at Arthur when he pouts, and Arthur still feigns annoyance with Merlin when he’s late – which he usually is. They go to pubs and watch films and sit together at Morgana’s dinner parties and everything feels fine; everything _is_ fine – except that Arthur’s desk is empty whenever he enters their history lecture, and Merlin seems to be unaware of the change.

And it doesn’t help that there’s suddenly _Gawain_ in the picture – because Gawain has a long hair and smoldering eyes and a scruffy beard that doesn’t make him look like he’s homeless but more like he belongs on the cover of a harlequin romance novel set in the nineteenth century, and Arthur hates everything about him.

Well, not everything – he does like that he’s a good fencer, which is how they met and which was subsequently, how Gawain and Merlin met. For this, Arthur loathes himself, because Gawain’s clear captivation by Merlin is disgusting.

He often sees them in the halls or at the food court together – Gawain leading Merlin through the crowds with a hand on his elbow, Merlin grinning at Gawain as he jabbers on with whatever story he’s telling – and they spend enough time together that Morgana eventually invites him to one of their weekly dinner parties.

Arthur arrives early, eyebrows and mouth downturned, and heads straight for the kitchen. Morgana rolls her eyes as she slides the roasted chicken into the oven. “Oh, don’t look at me that way. There’s nothing wrong with Gawain.”

“Of course there is!” Arthur hisses, resting his hands on the countertop so he can lean in toward her menacingly. “He’s trying to – He wants – He’s _courting_ Merlin!”

“And?” Morgana’s eyebrow quirks up. “Last time I checked, you weren’t dating.”

He steps back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. You’re acting like a jealous lover, afraid his one and only is going to be swept off his feet into the arms of another.”

“That’s not true at all; I’m just _worried_ about him.”

“What are you worried about? That he’ll like someone? That he could be in a relationship with someone who clearly cares a great deal for him? Oh, I know!” She touches her fingertip to her chin. “You’re worried he’ll stop stroking your ego by hanging around and flirting with you all the time.” She shakes her head, picks up her knife and slices into an apple. “How very noble of you.”

Arthur flushes, tosses his head. “What do you know?” He mumbles out.

“Apparently more than you do. Ah, that’ll be Gwen. She’s promised to help me with dessert. Make yourself scarce; we all know you wander around picking at the food and spoiling your appetite when you’re moping.”

While the prospect of the evening was horrible, the reality of it is even worse. Gawain is a perfect gentleman at dinner, and that makes Arthur grit his teeth in the same way that a cat must when pet the wrong way. Merlin doesn’t notice that when Gawain’s finished eating, he wads his cloth napkin on the table and leans back, draping his arm over the back of Merlin’s chair and smiling at him as he tells the group an elaborate story with expansive hand gestures about a man who came into ASDA with a duck on a leash and a piglet in his tote bag to wander around the store arguing with them in their respective animal languages about what to buy; it was apparently only when the duck pecked violently at a curious child’s fingers that they asked him to leave.

Amidst the laughter that follows, Gawain’s hand cups Merlin’s shoulder and squeezes lightly, and Merlin’s face positively _glows_ when he smiles over at Gawain. Arthur’s heart gets lodged at the back of his throat, and he swallows a few times to be rid of it before looking down at his plate, tapping his fork lightly on the edge. He takes a breath, turns and touches his knuckles to Merlin’s arm so that he shifts in his seat to look at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Do you have plans tomorrow night?”

He purses his lips thoughtfully, and Arthur holds his breath. “Was going to watch some films, order takeaway.”

“Why don’t we go see a film instead?” He asks quickly, noting the way Gawain sat up straighter at the news of Merlin’s free evening. “We could go for curry afterwards?”

He studiously ignores the heat growing steadily in his face as Merlin’s eyes go liquid-soft. “I had curry last night.” His heart plummets into his stomach. “Pizza instead?”

He smiles. “Pizza would be great.”

Merlin’s fingers touch lightly against his wrist, and then he’s turned away to answer a question Gwen has posed to him. Arthur feels like he won more than just a competition with Gawain, but he avoids looking at Morgana all the same.

That night, he logs online to do some research – just in case.

***

He is on a date with Merlin. _Arthur_ is on a _date_ with _Merlin_. He didn’t even realize it – well, not really. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that last night, he was asking Merlin out, but the significance of that didn’t occur to him. In fact, even up until a few moments ago, it didn’t occur to him. But as they wandered down the street from the cinema to have pizza at Little Italy, and Arthur was in the middle of a long-winded tirade about how unlikely it was that the girl in the romantic comedy they just saw (and saw precisely to make fun of it in these ways) was to rush back into her boyfriend’s arms just because he made some grand gesture after he cheated on her – and then Merlin was laughing and reaching over for his hand, lacing their fingers.

Arthur’s heart stuttered, and his voice faltered for a second, before his fingers slid into place between Merlin’s sharp knuckles and he tugged him over closer to his side. So they’re on a date. And they both know they’re on a date. And the date is going well.

And how could it not? They are Arthur and Merlin. They spend large amounts of time together anyway. This isn’t the first time they’ve seen a film together, and it isn’t the first time they’ve shared a pizza with too much meat and too many cheeses for it to be healthy for anyone, and the only difference Arthur really notices is how warm his chest feels and how his cheeks ache from smiling.

“You know…” Merlin folds his napkin in a neat square next to his plate when the pizza has been properly decimated. “This is the nicest you’ve ever been to me.”

“I’m always nice! I talk to you, don’t I?” Arthur leans forward on his elbows on the table.

“Some would say that is an act of cruelty.”

“Hang on!”

Merlin’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Don’t worry; I’m not one of them. I’ve had a good time tonight.”

Arthur grins widely. “I’m glad.”

“Oh, don’t look so smug.”

“I’m not smug. You think you would’ve had as good of a time if you went out with Gawain tonight?”

He shakes his head. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, really, but he was going to ask you out if you turned me down; I could see it in his face.”

His eyebrows lower. “So… what, was this a competition or something?”

“What? No. I mean. No. I just – that’s not – that didn’t come out the way it was supposed to.”

He is chuckling quietly now, and he reaches across the table to take Arthur’s hand, squeezing gently. “I think I get it. Who would’ve guessed you’d be the jealous type? Anyway, Gawain’s just a friend – a very good-looking friend, but you know.”

“If you’re trying to put me at ease…”

“Whoever said I want you to be at ease?” Arthur scowls at him, reaches over for one of the clean napkins. “What’re you doing?”

“What do you think?” He presses his tongue between his teeth, carefully spreads the paper out into a square on the tabletop.

Merlin tilts his head to the side. “Since when do you know anything about origami?”

“There’s this lovely thing called the internet, as I found out last night.”

He kicks Arthur under the table, murmurs, “Cheeky,” but falls quiet afterwards, sipping his soda with the straw in the corner of his mouth and watching him. He laughs softly when he pushes the paper animal over to him. “A cat?”

“The last one you gave me was a dog. I thought it was fitting.”

“It definitely is.” He smiles up at him.

***

Merlin carries the cat cupped in his hand all the way back to his flat. He has the fingers of his other hand tangled with Arthur’s, swinging lightly between them as they walk. Their steps up the stairs to his floor are slow, deliberately so, and Merlin turns to face him at his door, his head dipped down a little. “Well, here we are.”

“Here we are.” Arthur squeezes his hand. “Lunch after lecture on Monday? We can go to that café you like, that has the pepperoni Panini.”

“Sounds great.” Merlin’s voice is thick, warm.

He tucks the cat carefully into his palm, reaches for Arthur’s other hand with two fingers and draws both hands forward to settle on his hips; Arthur takes the invitation to smooth his fingers over his slim waist, pull him in closer, and when he does, Merlin’s arms settle around his shoulders, long fingers curling into his hair, and their lips press together softly. It’s slow and careful – at first just the light press of lips on lips. Merlin tastes like the sticky gummy candies they shared as dessert after finishing their pizza, and his tongue is just bold enough to set fireworks off in Arthur’s toes when it presses against his own.

When he pulls away, he continues to hold Arthur close, the apples of his cheeks stained rosy, his lips the color of strawberries. “I’m happy you asked me out.” He says quietly.

Arthur squeezes his hips. “I’m glad you told me you wanted me to.”

He leans back to see him better, eyes wide. “I thought you didn’t – You understood that’s what I was trying to do?”

“I had help.” Arthur shrugs one shoulder. “But yes, I knew that.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“I did.” He says slowly.

“Before yesterday, you prat! It’s been weeks!” He shakes his head. “I stopped leaving you the animals because I thought you weren’t interested.”

“I – really?”

“Yes! It’s been more than three months!”

“It didn’t – well, I didn’t know I had a time limit!”

“You didn’t.” His shoulders round, making his figure seem soft. “But a little acknowledgment that maybe you liked me back? I thought you just wanted to be friends.”

“I like being your friend.” Arthur concedes. “I just wouldn’t mind being more than that too.”

Merlin smiles. They kiss again.

***

Arthur doesn’t try to sleep tonight; he wouldn’t be able to if he did.

***

“You are a hopeless romantic.” Gwen drops her books heavily on her desk and sits down, sighing.

“Really?” Arthur grins at her. “Morgana says I’m just hopeless.”

“You might be that as well.” Gwen leans forward on her arms. “So it went well?”

“It went divinely.”

“I do not detect a sense of irony in that statement. I’m almost too shocked to comment.”

“Your commenting abilities seem to be in perfect working order.”

“Oh, here he comes.” Gwen nudges him, nods toward the door.

Arthur watches through the corner of his eye as Merlin heads into the room, rummaging through his bag as he does so. He pauses beside his desk, his hands dropping to his sides as he takes in the neat row of origami cranes there, each one in a different color. Not until their lecturer comes in does Arthur look over. Merlin is smiling at him like he’s the Christmas present he’s always wanted, and when their eyes meet, he mouths, _I’m serious too._

**Fin.**


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